


The others died so easily and he is so persistent

by Cirkne



Series: heart as loud as lions [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Dissociation, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Injuries, Multi, mute Alexander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8012956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirkne/pseuds/Cirkne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks Alexander could write: <i>Jump off a bridge with me</i> and John would answer: “Ok baby just let me get my keys I’ll be right there." It’s not a healthy thing, but he’s not a healthy person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The others died so easily and he is so persistent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johniaurens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/gifts), [doriantrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doriantrash/gifts).



> title from all black by clipping. that song is so good lsten ,,,,, LSTEN  
> this is a gift work for kreets and kiia because they've both gifted me fics and i'd be a bad bf if i didn't gift anything back

When he’s fifteen his father breaks his fingers. Or, the door his father slams against his hand breaks his fingers and John makes himself think of them as two separate things. He finds that the ugly white of his cast is the color he hates most in the world, thinks of killing himself. The year he’s fifteen is probably the worst year of his life. His father insists on calling him Jack. John insists on not correcting him. The doctor says his fingers are healing surprisingly fast. His father buys him a car even though his sixteenth birthday is months away.

*

John wants to die here. Now. He wanted to die all those years ago when he tried to enroll into the army and his father told him he had to get an education first. John says:

“I want to sleep next to you,” and Alexander signs _no_ and John leaves their bedroom and lays down on their bathroom floor and thinks of how Alexander must hate him now. That’s something he still hasn’t learned. Lafayette says:

“No doesn’t mean I hate you,” and John can’t hear them because his hands are shaking and there’s something heavy and tight in his chest and if he was dead this would probably be easier for all of them.

He thinks: make me another tragedy, use me to write poems about your pain, use me as a carcass, use my bones as shelter, leave me to rot. He thinks: say no, say no, just say no to me and when they do he thinks: you hate me, you hate me, you hate me, just fucking tell me you hate me already I’ll leave you alone if you just tell me you hate me.

When he was a teenager he used to dream of dying in the woods by his home, used to imagine curling up on the grass and waiting for death, used to wonder how long it would take for people to find his body, bruised and decaying. If he had died in the army, his father would have been proud of him. John wonders if his father regrets making him go to college.

The thing with Alexander is- Alexander’s not predictable. John likes to pretend he is. Likes to answer questions about him, likes to let people know just how much he knows. It’s a childish kind of thing. Look at how much I know about him, that must mean he really does belong to me. _Look_ he loves me, _look_ I love him. _Look_. Lafayette calls Alexander a cat sometimes. Lafayette says: 

“Be careful when he asks you to touch him, he’s only tricking you,” John never learns. John never wants to learn. John baits him, sometimes. Hercules listens to him, shakes his head, makes John sit in his lap, makes John talk about what he actually wants, makes Alexander listen.

That’s how this works, he thinks. Hercules and Lafayette are the middle ground, they wouldn’t work without them.

“You can’t do that to him, John,” Lafayette calls from their living room. John and Alexander are fighting, have been fighting for the past hour and this would be easier if John knew sign language or if Lafayette would stop refusing to _get in the middle of this_ like they aren’t already in the middle of everything.

For a moment John doesn’t do anything, holds his hand on the door handle and then he breathes out, leaves their bedroom. He’s no longer angry at Alexander, there’s only so long he can stay angry at the people he loves. He thinks he wants to cry now. Or, he wants to curl up on the bedroom floor and not move until he’s thought about this, until he feels better. Alexander isn’t angry anymore either, but he’s not sad yet. He’s holding a pen in his hand and there’s a notebook resting against his thighs and his feet are digging into the couch and John wishes it wasn’t always like this. 

John sighs, rests his head against the couch, looks up at Alexander, says:

“Okay, baby, okay, write down what you need to say,” Alexander looks tired, Alexander always looks tired, his hair is falling out of his braid. John wants to say: “I love you, I’m sorry for acting the way I did, I didn’t want to hurt you, I never want to hurt you, baby, please come to bed with me,” but Alexander needs to get his words out before John can apologize, he knows this, has always known this. He rests his head against their couch, closes his eyes. 

Hercules comes out of the kitchen, says:

“Someone has to help me with dinner,” he’s not looking at John or Alexander. Lafayette goes. John moves to sit on their couch. He starts reading over Alexander’s shoulder. Alexander’s handwriting is starting to get messy and he’s started to repeat himself.

“Are you sure you want to write all of it right now?” John asks and Alexander stops for a moment, sighs, rests his head on John’s shoulder, writes: _When else?_ John hums, Alexander continues writing, doesn’t move his head from John’s shoulder. 

Eventually, Alexander runs out of paper. He writes: _Let’s just go to bed_ and John doesn’t tell him it’s not late yet, doesn’t tell him Hercules and Lafayette should be finished with dinner soon, doesn’t tell him no. He thinks Alexander could write: _Jump off a bridge with me_ and John would answer: “Ok baby just let me get my keys I’ll be right there.” It’s not a healthy thing, but he’s not a healthy person, he says:

“Ok. Do you want me to read this first?” Alexander shakes his head, leaves his words on their couch. John follows him into the bedroom, undresses. Alexander gets into the bed with his clothes still on. He does that more often than not, complains about it to Lafayette and Lafayette laughs at him, finds him fresh clothes to put on. Like he’s a child, John thinks. Doesn’t say it.

He gets into bed next to Alexander, waits for Alexander to touch him first and then he melts into him, his lips against where Alexander’s collarbone is hidden behind his sweater. John’s sweater, he realizes, puts his teeth on the material for a moment. Alexander moves, throws his arms over John’s side, rests it on his back. John listens to his breathing until he falls asleep.

When he wakes, Hercules has taken Alexander’s place. It’s already dark. John’s hungry. Alexander’s probably in his office. The leftovers are probably in the fridge. John falls asleep again.

*

He thinks about his sisters, sometimes. His father never hurt them, but there is a toll living with someone like him must have left on them. They don’t answer his calls. The number under Martha in his phone no longer exists. He’s going to have to stop calling soon. He should have stopped months ago, he knows this. He’s still hoping one of them is going to pick up, tell him they’re safe, tell him they love him, tell him their father is dead. He thinks, probably, they’d just tell him to leave them alone. Their father was nothing but nice to them. He still hopes, though. He just wants to know they’re safe.

*

John sleeps on his arm. Wakes up with it asleep and covered in pressed-in lines. Alexander runs his fingers up and down his skin while John drinks his morning coffee. Lafayette talks about a dream they had. John listens to the clock tick. He can't make sense of Lafayette's words and he thinks his coffee tastes weird and his arm still feels numb even though it's been a good ten minutes and he thinks maybe he's dead. Alexander lays his head on the table. John takes another sip of his coffee. Thinks this is a weird place to be dead in. Wonders why Hercules isn't here if he's dead, wonders if Hercules is dead too.

"John," Lafayette says. "You have to hurry if you don't want to be late for work," their voice sounds far away. Quieter than their kitchen clock. Alexander is no longer touching him.

"I'm not going today," John answers, thinks of sticking his fingers in his coffee. "I'm dead," when he does it, the coffee isn't as hot as he expected it to be. He licks his fingers clean.

"Okay," Lafayette says. Alexander finally lifts his head up, looks at him. John looks back. This doesn't look like hell. He likes to pretend he doesn't believe in hell. Doesn't really work. Alexander's eyes are dark and endless, it seems. Maybe hell is inside Alexander.

"Are you going to eat me?" John asks. Alexander blinks at him. His eyes seem bigger now. He is getting ready to pull John in. John thinks he's ready to go. Maybe. He should say goodbye to Hercules. Is that why this is hell? Hercules left while John was still dying. He won't get to see him again. Alexander is shaking his head, John realizes. "How does this work, then?"

"Why are you dead?" Lafayette asks. John forgot they were here. He frowns. Alexander is still looking at him. His eyes are still dark.

"Because I died," John answers, frowns, moves the fingers of his left hand. Pushes his coffee away.

"You died," Lafayette says, slow. Shifts in their seat. John nods. Alexander stands up to leave. Lafayette asks: "How did you die?"

At the same time John calls after Alexander:

"When are you taking me to hell?" Alexander stops. Turns to look at him. His eyes look brown from where he's standing. John blinks. Blinks again. Alexander's watching him. Brown eyes.

"How did you die, John?" Lafayette repeats. John looks away from Alexander. Wonders if demons can change their eye color, wonders why the demon took Alexander's body, wonders if the demon can talk when it's in Alexander's body.

"I fell asleep," John answers, slowly. "In the woods, I fell asleep and I died," when he thinks about it, it feels like he's watching himself from someone else's perspective. Maybe it's Hercules. Maybe that's why he isn't here. John looks younger in his eyes. The woods look bigger than he remembers. Maybe. Maybe not. He doesn't remember them well. He doesn't know if he should. He used to run out into them when he was a teenager. The woods by his father's house. Alexander is still watching him. Lafayette is watching him too.

"When did you die?" Lafayette asks. John frowns. What a stupid question.

"Just now," John answers. "I woke up and I was here, but I'm dead. They'll find my body in the woods. Maybe Hercules will find my body in the woods. Is that where he is?"

"Hercules is at work," Lafayette says. John doesn't like that. Hercules should be here. John's dead. Hercules should be here with him why would he go to work if John is dead.

"He doesn't love me," John says, quietly, looks down at the table. "He doesn't care that I died." He looks up and Alexander is signing something. John hates when he does that, sometimes. It's his own fault for not taking the classes when Lafayette and Alexander did, but that was before they were all dating. "No signing at my funeral," he says and- _oh_. This is his funeral. He is being mourned at their kitchen table. There's a pang of regret in the back of his mind. This would be funny if he was bleeding. Like a dissected frog. He always hated when they did that in school. The frogs didn't deserve a death like that. For that. "You should cut me open," John says. Alexander hands Lafayette their phone. John watches Lafayette take it. Neither of them says anything. Alexander reaches for John's hand, slowly. Gives him time to pull away.

"I'm dead," John says. "You don't need permission to touch me," Alexander nods, laces their fingers together, tugs at his arm until John stands up, follows him into the living room.

"Can you come home?" Lafayette says into the phone. John watches Alexander. Wonders if home means funeral in french. Wonders if the demon will change it's eyes to black again.

Alexander sits him down on the couch.

"Are coffins comfortable?" John asks. If their couch is his coffin, they are. He doesn't know what else it could be. Alexander doesn't answer him. The demon can't talk either, then.

Lafayette comes into the living room, phone still in hand, presses themselves against John on the couch, their body is too warm against John's but he leans into it anyway.

"What happened yesterday?" Lafayette asks. "Before you died?"

"I went to work," John answers. Alexander is holding his hand. "My co-worker asked if I went to see my family over the long weekend. Hercules came to pick me up. When we came home you and Alexander were making out. Hercules asked if I was fine with him leaving me alone while he works. I watched TV. We went to bed."

Alexander runs his fingers through John's hair. His arm is no longer asleep. Lafayette holds it in theirs. He thinks he's shaking. It's probably the coffee. Maybe. Maybe it's the maggots trying to eat his dead body. John tries to remember driving into the woods, but he can’t. His arm isn’t numb but it feels like his brain is. His head’s heavy. Heavier. He wishes he was asleep.

He might pass out. Either that or time here is different. It would make sense, John thinks. Time isn’t real anyway. When he opens his eyes, someone is unlocking their door. Hercules is the only person to have a key besides them three. 

"Welcome to my funeral," John calls. Hercules doesn't answer. Maybe Hercules is taken over by a demon too. Maybe all demons are mute. John turns to Lafayette, they're looking at him. He wonders why Lafayette can talk.

"Hey baby," Hercules says walking into the living room. His scarf is red. He can talk. Good, John thinks. Hercules always knows how to ground him, he should know how to put him in the ground, too. In the ground, John thinks. That’s where he’ll be. Covered in dirt. Covered. Covered in dirt. In the ground. Covered. No one can reach him there. John says:

"Don't call me baby at my own funeral," Hercules comes up to kneel in front of the couch, rests his hand on John's knee, they're almost at eye level. His scarf is still red. John bought it for him. Hercules had said: “Red is your favorite color, not mine,” he wears it, still.

"You can't argue if you're dead, baby," Hercules says. John blinks at him, feels heat rushing to his face. That’s good, probably. He’s been so cold today. Anger makes him warm, has always made him warm. Hercules’ hand is warm on his leg too.

"I'm arguing right now," he answers. Hercules is still touching him and John pulls away from both Lafayette and Alexander's hands, annoyed. Hercules is still touching him. His skin is so warm. This would be better if he wasn’t wearing jeans. Why are they burying him in jeans?

"Why is that?" Hercules asks. He’s smiling, but it’s not real. John can tell when Hercules isn’t really smiling, frowns at him.

"Because I don't want you to call me baby, asshole," he answers. Hercules moves his hand up to John's thigh, looks at him. John thinks about how much he wants his jeans off again. Wants Hercules to touch him. Hercules was always good at touching him, good at knowing him.

"You're not dead, John," he says, doesn't break eye contact. His eyes are brown too. Lighter than Alexander’s. John stills. Watches Hercules.

"Why did you come here if I'm not dead?" he asks, but he looks around. He's sitting on their couch, in their living room. He can see his coffee mug on the kitchen table.

"Lafayette asked me to," Hercules answers. John nods. Closes his eyes. Hercules really needs to stop coming home whenever they ask him to. He ends up having to work at home. Like yesterday. John opens his eyes.

"I'm not dead," he whispers. Of course he’s not dead. That’s absurd. Why would he be dead if he’s in their living room. Shakes his head. He’s alive. Still doesn't feel like he's here. Or, he does. He doesn’t think this is real. Hercules is still looking at him. Lafayette is still warm against his side. Alexander isn’t. Alexander’s never warm. Sticks his feet between John’s legs when they sleep. Hercules moves his thumb over John's jeans. Waits.

"You should go back to bed," Lafayette says, eventually. “I’ll call in sick for you,” John nods, doesn’t move until Hercules takes him into his arms, carries him to the bedroom.

*

His mother dies seven months after he turns sixteen. Mary is a month old. He crashes his car, breaks his ribs, ends up in the hospital. It’s soon June. When he’s sent home, Martha has put a vase with iris flowers in his room. He realizes how much he likes the way bruises look on his skin. His father stops beating him. In July he gets drunk for the first time, gets into his first fistfight. Starts feeling numb. When he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember how he felt before that.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are what keeps me alive <3  
> im @ tadaffodil on twitter


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